


Something More Familiar

by Totalspiffage



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, lots of gun talk here because reasons, there's feelings in here i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7655611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Totalspiffage/pseuds/Totalspiffage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCree doesn't use anything that's considered standard issue. But he's a kid, he's thrown into Blackwatch with nothing of his old life. Gabriel is considerate and helps out a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something More Familiar

**Author's Note:**

> Written because my friend wanted feelings about Gabe giving McCree his gun, considering how angry McCree gets seeing Reaper throw his guns aside like they're nothing.

Jesse was 17 years old, and he’d never taken to shooting rifles.

“These guns are standard issue,” droned the lady behind the desk of the place Reyes had directed him to be kitted out, “One assault pulse rifle, LM-16, and one LM-9 sidearm.” Jesse gritted his teeth, holding his tongue as his equipment was stamped with his number and name, but shuffled along anyway to the practice range.

As expected, his performance was terrible. His handgun was alright, more slim than he was used to, and the kick on the pulse was nearly negligible, leaving him grossly overestimating his shots. And yet, by the time he figured where the damn thing was shooting, Reyes was marching over.

“Kid, what the hell are these numbers?” Reyes’ voice was low, a low growl of annoyance. 

“I ain’t ever shot a semi before, sir,” he said, a tremble making its way into his voice unbidden, “Or a real rifle neither.” 

Reyes fixed him with a withering glare, “Thought you could shoot. I saw your aim, and it was impeccable. What. Happened?”

Jesse swallowed nervously, “Well, I’m good with a revolver. Had me an old six-gun. Ancient thing, used real gunpowder, mind, but there was plenty of ammo out in the gorge and it’s easy to make on your own up if you can’t get no pulse rounds.”

Reyes was silent for a few moments, “A revolver, huh? Inefficient. You practice with what you’re given for now, cowboy.” He turned on his heel and stood to watch him practice more.

Jesse felt all hope in his head float away and he nodded, trying not to be intimidated by his new CO, “Yessir, whatever you say sir.” He wondered if his aim didn't improve, would they send him to jail regardless?  He performed even worse, and Reyes mumbled something, shaking his head as he stalked out of the range area after dismissing the new recruits for the day.

* * *

 

 

Jesse was summoned to the range by himself for additional practice the next day, while the rest of the new recruits were being briefed to start missions. The dread grew in his stomach as he made his way there, finding Reyes with a gun case, waiting. Jesse stepped closer, looking confused.

“Found you a gun, kid. You’ll be useless at long-range, but luckily most of our ops are pretty covert, close to medium range,” He growled, opening the case for Jesse to look at. It was a revolver, a good one. It gleamed in the light, and Jesse’s fingers itched to hold it.

“I thought the sidearm I was given was standard issue,” he said, numbly, as he looked on the beautiful gun.

“Yeah, well this isn’t quite the military, and sometimes people forget that. I wrote a requisition for this one. You better be a damn good shot or else all that red tape was for nothing.” He made it sound like hard work just for McCree to have something more familiar.  

Still, Jesse had a hard time finding words. This gun was brand new, not a fingerprint to be seen on its reflection. He’d never had a new gun. He’d never had a new anything, come to think of it. His parents had been poor, the gang had been, well, a gang. This was… almost kind. He wondered if Reyes was babying him for being 17, but put his worry aside as he picked it up. He opened the cylinder to check it was empty before testing the grip, giddy.

“It takes pulse rounds, but they pack a huge punch. Should be similar to the model you used.” He’d looked up what gun they’d picked him up with, probably. All for a little gang urchin like him. Reyes was harsh, yeah, but he gave a shit about his men.

“Alright, let’s give ‘er a whirl, shall we?” McCree felt his confidence returning, an easy smile slipping onto his face as he opened the cylinder to test a few shots.

All dead center. Reyes gave a low chuckle as McCree tried a full cylinder. His hand came up to fan, his compensation for the kick was perfect, all his shots were within the black of the target.

“Well, at least I know it was just the gun that was shit and not my eye for scouting,” Reyes said, “Keep that thing safe, kid. It’s yours now. Think up a half decent name. If I find out you’re not cleaning that thing once a week I’ll make you pay for it outta your own paycheck.”

“Yessir, not a scratch on her, sir!” Jesse said, his hope returning in strides as Gabriel left him to practice.

 

* * *

 

Years later, Jesse McCree ran his fingers over the faded inscription on his gun: BLK-015. It had changed over the years, its grip replaced at least three times from wear, cosmetic additions because he could, but every time he considered filing down the inscription, he pictured Reyes, smile on his face after watching Jesse pull a perfect full cylinder fan. Some things carried memories, and he didn’t wanna forget who put his redemption within reach.

And hell, when he forgot to clean it for a week every now and again, he half expected Gabriel himself to rise from the dead just to steal his wallet and smack him upside the head.

Hah. As if that were possible.

 


End file.
